


The Coat

by Snailhair



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel's Trenchcoat, Destiel - Freeform, Feels, Lonely Dean, M/M, Oneshot, bittersweet fluff, post-death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailhair/pseuds/Snailhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lonely and grieving, Dean spends some time with Castiel's coat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coat

Dean slammed the motel door, on his way out into the dark parking lot. His feet were stomping toward the Impala, while his hands took refuge in his jacket pockets. He could hear the motel door opening up again, behind him.

“Dean,” Sam called, voice full of irritation, “would you get back in here? We need to find -”

“I need time to think,” Dean shouted gruffly, over his shoulder.

The man didn't stop to argue with his brother. Sam stood in the motel doorway and watched, as Dean climbed into the car and started her up; glaring through the windshield the whole time. Yeah, Dean knew they needed to figure out what to do about Dick Roman. But he really wished that Sam would understand that he still needed his space. Especially after what had happened during the past couple of weeks... Dean's green eyes gave one more glance up at his little brother, before he backed out of the parking lot and sped down the road.

Dean just drove. It didn't matter what direction he went in. It didn't matter that the sky was pitch black, or that fog was clouding the front of his headlights; making it difficult to see. The purr of the engine and the feeling of the tight steering wheel beneath his fingers were all the company he needed. For while, anyway. At least, until his mind began to wander.

As the headlights lit up the blur of white stripes on the pavement, Dean's head started to feel heavy with memories. Dammit. Why couldn't he have had more time to get to know his mother? He barely knew her at all. Why did she have to die so young, and leave Sammy to deal with all of this Hell? The poor kid never even knew her. And why did it seem like everything boiled down to Sammy having to take the brunt of it all? He might not have known her well enough, but Dean was damn sure his mother would have never allowed any of this to happen to her children... If she had lived...

Dean swallowed harshly, as thoughts of his mother's death faded into his last memory of Cas – of the angel wading out into the water, prepared to die. Dean couldn't even move, while Cas was dying. He only stood on the bank and watched, as Cas got farther away. He watched the poor bastard sink further and further under the water, until it washed over his dark hair; making his entire body disappear below the current. Coat and all.

A deep sigh heaved from the depths of Dean's lungs, as he pulled off the highway and slowed to a stop on the side of the road. He found himself starring at the dials on the radio all the sudden, watching the glowing lights flicker on the dashboard. The dim colors were slowly blurring, as moisture built up in Dean's eyes. It was scary, how fast just the thought of Cas made him tear up. The man yanked a single hand from the steering wheel, in order to angrily wipe the tears from his eyes. God, Cas was so damn stupid. Why the hell did he have to swallow purgatory and explode like that? How could an angel not choose the right path, or make the right decisions? How could he be so blind?

With the car now off, Dean realized he didn't want to drive anymore. He was just too damn tired to think straight, let alone drive. He was a good ten miles from the motel, at this point. Maybe he could just sleep in the car. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time he'd curled up in the driver's seat on the side of the road. As the thought of sleeping in the car came to mind, though, Dean noticed it was getting cold inside. His breath was starting to fog in front of his mouth. But he was not going to waste gas, just to turn the heater on. 

It was then, that Dean remembered what was in the trunk.

Taking a deep breath, the man opened his door and dragged himself out of the car. He kept his eyes on the ground, as he made his way to the back; pausing to stare at the trunk for a moment. He knew what was in there, but he hadn't looked at it in a good long while. And he was hesitating on purpose, now, because he knew what it was going to do to him. Just the sight of that tan, blood-stained fabric was enough to make Dean feel a thousand emotions. The man took a deep breath, before leaning down to finally pop the trunk open. 

There, crinkled and folded in the corner of the dark compartment, lay Cas's coat. It was dark outside and Dean could barely see, but he reached down and slowly clasped the coat in his hand. It felt soft against his fingers; probably _too_ soft. The man picked it up carefully and brought it closer to his face; turning it over in his hands, as he blinked at it in the dark. The fabric was dirty and wrinkled and smelled faintly of mildew, but it was somehow still perfect. It was familiar and comforting; just the way it ought to be.

Dean slammed the trunk shut and made his way to the front seat again, with the coat tight in his grasp. A few cars flew by on the highway, as he slid in to sit and shut the door. He was trying not to think too much about it, when he opened the coat and draped it over himself; making sure to cover his whole front. The long, empty sleeves fell limply at his sides; wrapping him in a loose hug. The tan collar brushed over Dean's nose as he shifted underneath the fabric – making the scent of Cas almost unavoidable. The disturbingly familiar smell made Dean's eyes flutter shut, as he gulped. 

“Dammit,” he grumbled under his breath.

Dean was picturing Cas perfectly in his mind – his jet-black hair, his moist pink lips, his baby-blue eyes – but it wasn't good enough. This _coat_ wasn't good enough. It wasn't _Cas_. Cas wasn't there, sitting beside him in the Impala. He wasn't even alive anymore. But this damn coat was tricking his senses into believing that he _was_ there. The airy smell, the gritty texture, the familiar 'tax accountant' sight... 

Dean couldn't believe that moisture was filling up his eyes again. He couldn't believe that he had to wipe another tear away from his cheek. Why was he so damn sad over losing Cas? No one else's death ever made him feel this way, and he had lost almost everyone he'd ever loved. No one made him grieve like Cas did.

But Cas was an angel, right? And did angels ever really die? With a new found hope, Dean tilted his head back to glare at the ceiling of the Impala. 

“Cas,” the man breathed, hoping his words were being heard, “if you're alive out there,... If you can hear me,... I just want you to know...” Dean paused to tighten his glare with sarcasm, “you need to come back and wash this damn coat. And make it snappy, you son-of-a-bitch.”

Pleased with his prayer, Dean finally closed his eyes and nestled deeper into the fabric, hoping his words had somehow made it to Cas's ears. The angel's familiar scent gently lulled him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I first wrote this eight months after my Grandmother's death. So, I guess you could say that this was therapeutic for me on a certain level. For Christmas that year, I took some of her old clothes and made pillows out of them for everyone in the family. It took me several weeks, and I was around her clothes all the time; smelling her perfume on them, and missing her terribly. People like to say that Life imitates art. Well, in this case, art embodied life. :) Dean and Cas have helped me in more ways than anyone could ever know. (I don't care how dumb that sounds. It's the truth.) ;) I hope you enjoyed reading it, even with all the feels! :)


End file.
